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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Poor Little Rich Girl
by Kellis (kellis@dhp.com)
***
A story in the 50's private-eye genre, complete with a
sexy woman and the threat of a gun. (MFM, oral, anal)
***
"Freeze, damn you, or I'll shoot!"
But then his voice lost its harshness. "Hell, you're
Prissy Perrin!"
At the instant he flicked on the light, she had been
standing across the room, body extended over the couch,
one hand holding the picture aside, the other inside the
safe, clutching a stack of money. She snatched her hand
back, scattering a few loose bills on couch and floor,
and released the picture, which swung down upon the open
safe door with a clunk. Langley almost smiled; he had
broken the glass that originally covered that print the
same way years ago. She sagged with one knee on the
couch, both hands on the couch back, body twisted
uncomfortably, and stared at him from a pale, anguished
face.
He advanced into the room, closing the door to the dark
hall behind him, letting his pistol point slightly away
from her. "Tell me, my dear: what is my neighbor's
daughter doing dressed in black like a cat burglar with
her hand in my ready cash?"
Her eyes darted right and left, then back to his pistol.
She swallowed and answered weakly, "T-trying to be one,
I guess."
"A cat burglar? Well, I agree that you've almost dressed
the part, even to black sneakers. But what is that on
your head, your father's golfing beret? It covers up
your hair but is probably easier to see even than your
blonde curls. And don't you know you should blacken your
face?"
Her mouth twisted. "I was afraid I couldn't get it off."
"Is this some college prank?"
She hesitated. Her chin trembled. "Would you believe me
if I said it was?"
"No. Turn around and sit down, Prissy, before you hurt
your back in that contortion."
She obeyed with a sigh, hands falling on her black
bejeaned knees. She was wearing a black sable short
coat, also not the recommended texture for nighttime
invisibility, though he forbore mentioning it. She
stared up at him anxiously, licking dry lips, as he
stood in front of her, the pistol still only slightly
averted.
"The last I heard, you were a sophomore at Fieldsmith.
This is February, Prissy. What are you doing home?"
"They threw me out."
"Did they indeed! Grades too low?"
"No."
"Then why did they throw you out, Prissy?"
"Will you quit calling me that? My name is Melissa."
"Well, I can't see much change since you swam with my
daughters. I think you're still Miss Prissy. Why did
they throw you out of school?"
"Your daughters -- especially Edna -- are the prissy
ones!"
He nodded slightly. "I might agree with you about Edna.
Why did Fieldsmith ask you to leave, Prissy?"
She sighed. "They said I'm a delinquent."
"A delinquent! I thought delinquency was Fieldsmith's
main prerequisite for admission."
She smiled tightly. "It may be."
"Did they catch you cheating, Prissy?"
Her shoulders slumped and her face dropped. "My history
prof's wife caught him cheating."
"How did that involve -- Oh, I see. Were you trying to
improve your grade, Prissy?"
"No. Well, that too."
"I know a professor of history at Fieldsmith. It wasn't
Carstairs, was it?"
She sighed, nodding.
"What happened?"
"She walked in on us in his office."
"What were you doing?"
"He was ... He was eating me."
Langley chuckled. "And a gourmet feast I'm sure it was,
too! That sounds like Carstairs. He always wanted to
taste. I take it that wasn't your first time."
"Oh, no. I went to his office every Tuesday and Thursday
afternoon all winter."
He nodded. "Always at the same time of day, I'm sure."
"Three o'clock, when neither of us had a class."
"Of course. And Madam Carstairs grew suspicious, did
she?"
"I guess. God, she's a big woman! She had a key, walked
right in, grabbed my arm and threw me out in the hall.
She threw my clothes after me." The girl rubbed her
upper arm. "Still got the bruises." Her chin rose and
red spots appeared on her cheeks. "That's what caused
all the trouble, I think. I had to dress in the hall.
The dean heard the commotion and came to investigate."
"Commotion?"
"Catcalls and whistles." Her expression changed. "His
wife said something to him I didn't understand. 'You're
certainly no Marc Antony.'"
He chuckled slightly. "Permit me to enlighten you.
Carstairs once wrote a paper claiming to deduce that
Cleopatra demanded cunnilinctus from all her lovers."
"Oh... Oh!"
"What then befell my good friend, Professor Carstairs?"
"I don't know. They put me on the plane before dark."
"This happened recently, I take it?"
"Monday."
"I'll have to give him a call." Langley grinned
maliciously. "I'm sure he'll enjoy discussing it with
me... Well, Prissy, you've accounted for your presence
in Newport, but you have a bit more ground to cover
before we get to your hand in my ready cash."
He pulled up a straight chair before her and sat in it.
She eyed the pistol still pointing near her, then his
lounging robe, the almost hairless bare legs and the
slippers on his feet. "Were you in bed? It's not even
eight o'clock."
"I was on my way. I noticed the light indicating my safe
door ajar. I had heard a noise earlier but passed it
off." He looked toward the French doors and smiled. "Did
you stumble over that smoking stand?"
She nodded with an expression of chagrin.
"I put the two together and fetched this new Beretta
with me when I came to investigate. Isn't it a lovely
piece?"
"Ah, ah -"
He chuckled. "Perhaps not from your end of it, eh? Now
tell me, Prissy, why didn't you just ask your father for
the money you need?"
She looked away. He saw a tinge of red on her cheeks.
"Don't tell me he took your delinquency hard!"
"Huh!" she grunted and shook her head.
"He's upset over a little fucking, Prissy? Oh, excuse
me, of course you don't use that word. Believe me, he's
done more than a little improper fucking himself! If
he's gone all hypocritical in his old age, I may be able
to furnish you some ammunition. What did he do, reduce
your allowance?"
She watched him for a moment. At last she heaved a very
deep sigh and said in a low voice, looking down, "He
threw me out, too." Her head came up to gauge his
reaction.
"For fucking?" he demanded incredulously.
"For fucking him," she answered in the same low voice.
He thought a moment, staring into her almost defiant
eyes. "What do you mean, Prissy?"
"He ... You know I'm not his blood daughter, don't you?"
"Yes, I knew. Your mother married him when you were two
or three, then she died a while back in that plane
crash. I see. You meant it literally, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"When did that start?"
"Start? Huh! It started and ended yesterday. He was ...
very sympathetic. He comforted me. I sat in his lap. I
felt his thing get hard. When I went to lie down he came
to my room."
"And did what?"
"You know."
"Tell me, Prissy."
She looked away. "He ate me. I sucked him. Then we
fucked."
"Did you enjoy it?"
"Oh, yes. And I thought he did, too!"
"I think I see. This morning he was different, was he?"
"Oh, god, yes! He said that I was 19 and that he
wouldn't owe me anything even if I was his blood
daughter. He said I couldn't live there anymore. He --"
She choked but continued gamely. "He made me leave with
just what I was wearing.
"I hid in the bushes and waited until his car left. Then
I went back in through the kitchen. Martha said he left
orders to call the police and charge me with trespassing
if I came back. She let me cry on her, gave me a coke
and watched out while I ran upstairs for a few clothes."
"Including the ones you have on?"
"Yes. I found his beret in the back of the suitcase."
"So what did you do all day?"
"I had about 40 dollars. I hung around at Sloppy Joe's."
She smiled. "Mr. Kilmer offered me a job. All I had to
do was dance with the guys that come in there and let
them buy me fake drinks."
"Did you take it?"
She sniffed. "I may be a blonde but I'm not that dumb!"
"Then what happened?"
"I remembered Edna showing me your safe that you never
lock. I thought I'd get enough money to go back to
Fieldsmith, to the town. Jeffrey -- Professor Carstairs
once offered to rent me an apartment."
"And if his wife has changed his mind?"
Slowly she shook her head. "I thought about that. I
don't know if my idea would work, but it might. I would
just offer myself to the first man who looked
prosperous, then the next, until I found one that would
feed me."
"A well thought-out plan! You like fucking that much, do
you, Prissy?"
"I wouldn't have much choice, would I? But I do like ...
fucking."
He chuckled. "Oh, you do know the word!" He took a cell
phone out of a pocket of his robe. She eyed it, her face
again turning white. "If I call 911, you think it'll
just be my word against yours, do you, Prissy?"
"Please don't call 911, Mr. Langley."
"Why not? Don't you think our community needs protection
from a desperate thief?"
Her face tightened. "I'm not a thief!"
He nodded. "True, only because I caught you before you
could get away."
She shivered. "Mr. Langley, isn't there some way ..."
Her eyes narrowed as her voice trailed off.
Suddenly she dived forward off the couch to his feet.
Ignoring the pistol, whose barrel now almost touched her
temple, her hands parted his robe. "I thought I saw it,"
she cried. "It's already a boner!"
"What are you going to do about it?" he asked, staring
down.
"I'm going to do what you want," she answered
submissively, first looking up into his eyes, then
suddenly leaning forward.
He gasped slightly, admitting after a moment, "Yes,
Prissy, your assumption is quite correct." He slipped
more forward in his chair, hips moving slightly in
counterpoint to her head. "This is a convincing
argument, my dear. If you continue as well as you've
begun, you could win this first debate."
She backed away slightly. "Do you have to point that gun
at me?"
He chuckled. "Would you believe the last woman who
fellated me at gunpoint was my nanny?"
Her face showed horror. "You threatened to kill her if
she didn't?"
"Not at all. She insisted on it, said it made her feel
better about doing it. But you don't need it, do you,
Prissy?"
She shook her head. "Jeffrey was right. Rich old men are
weird!"
"Undoubtedly, only they prefer 'eccentric.' Take off
your clothes, my dear. Let's see just how un-prissy
you've grown."
She shrugged, threw her fur coat to the floor, pulled
her sneakers off, got to her feet and pushed her jeans
down. "How would you know the difference?"
He watched her while he let the pistol dangle
negligently from a finger in the trigger guard. "I
remember studying you and the other girls in my pool a
few years ago. You say you're 19, which would make you
about 17 then. Hooray for the bikini! I recall thinking
that your tits were well begun with a lot of room to
expand. What I admired most was your perky ass and a
most seductive little belly swell. Edna's tits were
better, but nobody could touch your pudendal pad."
"I always thought I had nice legs."
"It's hard for a teenage girl not to have nice legs."
"You enjoyed comparing us, did you?" she asked, her
voice muffled by a velour blouse as it passed over her
head. "Even your daughters?"
"A man fucks every nubile female he encounters, at least
in the privacy of his own mind." He chuckled. "Some men
end up paying psychiatrists because of that."
"But not you, right?" She was straining to unsnap her
brassiere.
He watched closely without offering to help.
"No. The idea that a man should feel guilty for his
thoughts is a religious invention designed to profit the
priests."
"How about when you do it instead of thinking it?"
"That's different." He smiled whimsically. "Then it
depends on the girl."
She stepped out of her panties and stood naked before
him.
"Well?"
He nodded critically. "Impressive! Lovely, full tits,
and the pudendal swell is a bit more pronounced, if
anything. I'm forced to agree: you are Melissa, not
Prissy." He got to his feet, put the cell phone back in
his pocket and drew her against him with his free arm.
She resisted slightly. "Mr. Langley, I can't run away
naked, and you know you're stronger than I. Would you
please put that gun down? It makes me nervous."
"Then you hold it," he said unconcernedly, putting it
into her hand. "And call me 'Dickie-Pie,' if you
please."
Her eyes widened in astonishment. She hefted the weapon,
then examined it closely. "But this is a fake!"
"Please, dear. It's a replica: correct weight, color,
everything but function."
"God!" she declared in disgust, letting the thing fall
onto the carpeted floor with a thud.
He grasped her breast with the freed hand. "This feels
so much better anyway."
"God!" she said again, watching as his hand kneaded the
soft flesh, rolling the puckered nipple between
forefinger and thumb. Slowly she smiled. "What did you
say to call you?"
"Dickie-Pie."
"Like your nanny?"
"Like a sweet little cocksucker."
Her hand grasped the organ that prodded her belly. "Do
you want me to suck, or do you want to find out what
Jeffrey loved?"
"I know what Jeffrey loved. Why not both together?"
"Let me on top."
His eyebrows rose admiringly. "That sounds like the
voice of experience."
"It is! With my head on the couch you could jam it down
my throat. Lay down, Dickie-Pie."
* * * *
After various permutations his torso ended atop hers on
the couch with her legs wrapped around his hips. He
raised up, panting heavier than she, as her legs
reluctantly released him. "You do like to fuck," he
gasped, "don't you... Sweetie-Puss?"
She grinned lazily. "Told you so, Dickie-Pie."
He shook his head, backed away and slipped off the couch
to his feet, where he stood leaning forward, helping to
support his torso by hands extended to his knees. She
frowned. "You're all right, aren't you, sir?"
"Soon as I get my breath! You're a marvel, Melissa. Do
you have any idea how many times you came?"
"Who counts?"
He shook his head, straightening up. "I don't believe I
ever knew a girl who could enjoy it so much with a
stranger."
"You're no stranger!"
"Perhaps I should have said, 'With a mere
acquaintance.'"
She chuckled, deep in her throat, as she sat up on the
couch.
"You're a lot more than that, Dickie-Pie."
"Oh?" He grinned in puzzlement. "How's that?"
"You fucked me once before, you know." Her eyebrows
rose. "Huh!
Then you truly didn't recognize me?"
He stared at her, several expressions chasing each other
across his face.
"Last Halloween?"
She nodded with a giggle.
"That was you? My god, I thought it was Eileen Cam- That
is... But, dammit, I gave her that Vesuvius mask
myself!"
"She had to powder her nose. I borrowed it."
He shook his head. "I can't believe this. I tell you, I
recognized her perfume."
"We can both afford that scent. Well, I could until this
morning."
"Why didn't you stop me, Melissa? When I pulled off your
pom-pom, as I recall, you grabbed the dick of my
costume."
"I wanted to see if your real one was in it."
"Of course not!"
"So I found out. But you make a good looking devil,
Dickie-Pie."
"You recognized me, then?"
"No, but when I told Eileen that I had fucked the devil
standing up on the dance floor, she had to look. I
thought she would laugh her head off. She knew you, of
course. I'm surprised she didn't tell you about it."
"Huh! She let me believe it was she I was fucking!"
"Now I understand," the girl observed sourly. "She must
be nearly 30 years old. Is my body really so much like
hers?"
"In a chorus-girl body suit, yes."
"But you got past the suit."
"Oh, yes. I believe it was Benjamin Franklin himself who
first noted that age matters little in those female
parts."
"And I kissed your devil's dick while the real one was
in my cunny. Did you hear the woman beside us in the
blue wig? She said, 'Too bad yours isn't that long,
Bugsy.'"
She laughed a silvery peal, but her expression grew
solemnly reflective. "That was a different life."
"Carefree and gay, eh?"
She sighed. "Gone forever, I guess. Will you send me to
jail, Mr. Langley?"
"I might as Mr. Langley, but never as Dickie-Pie."
She rolled forward to the edge of the couch, hand
extended to grasp his shrunken organ. "Then how do I
keep Dickie-Pie?"
"That's the way, of course. You can stay here awhile,
Melissa, especially if you... Hmm. Yes, exactly, but if
you suck it up now, it will only be sore. I was about to
say that both girls are away at school and Eleanor is in
Acapulco on one of her sulks. She won't be back for a
month or two, not till she runs out of beach boys and
the weather improves."
"Eleanor? Oh. Mrs. Langley! What about the servants?"
"Old Granville died, you know. Heart-attack while
bringing Eleanor her morning coffee. Made a mess on the
stairs. And Abigail left with an attack of terminal
pregnancy. Just now dinner is catered and a crew comes
in once a week. Nobody you know."
"Then I could stay here!" She looked up hopefully.
"Would you let me call Jeffrey?"
"Did you have some particular feeling for him, Sweetie-
Puss? I hate to tell you this, but you're about the
fifth coed his wife has caught him with. I think it's a
put-on to terminate the affair. Especially in your case,
if you'd been fucking him all winter."
"We started after a conference in October. He said such
nice things to me!"
"Of course he did! Sweetie-Puss, to a man our age you
are all the milkshakes, banana-splits, deep-dish
cobblers and crusted bombas rolled into one package, the
personification of sweet love."
"Stop it! You're making me hungry." She sighed. "You're
probably right about Jeffrey. Even I noticed how much he
had cooled down." Slowly her concern faded. "Where would
I sleep?"
"Do you have to ask?"
"No, I guess not." She regarded him quizzically. "I've
never actually slept with a ... a grown man. I hope you
don't snore."
He chuckled. "I'm told that when I do, my tongue comes
out and wiggles up and down."
"It doesn't!"
"Where's your suitcase, Sweetie-Puss?"
"Just outside those French doors. By the way, Dickie-
Pie, why did you put your safe in a room with French
doors, anyway?"
"When the safe was put here, that wall was solid.
Eleanor cut the doors and built the balcony. Did Edna
also tell you about the key under the flower pot?"
"Yes, she did."
"That girl! I wonder who else she's told! Slip your
shoes on long enough to bring in your suitcase, and lets
go to the kitchen. Even I can do wonders with a
microwave!"
* * * *
"Why do you want to fuck in the servants' foyer, Dickie-
Pie?"
He pointed up to the mirrored ceiling. "Because of
that."
"Oh." She grinned in anticipation, straining her head
back.
"And this." He pressed a button under an arm of the
heavily overstuffed couch. The back obligingly swung
down, forming a wide, soft bed.
"And one other reason. That is an outside door, but no
one is out there this morning, and you'll notice there's
not a single window in this room. Now trot over to that
closet like a sweet puss and fetch back a blanket to
cover this couch. We don't want to stain it, do we?"
Throwing off her borrowed peignoir, she scampered
nakedly away and returned with a blanket, smiling up at
her reflection. "That mirror is the main reason, isn't
it?"
He grinned. "Don't worry, I won't make you do all the
pushing!"
"Why all this in the servants' entrance?"
"Well, actually, that's an old name for the place when
my mother lived here. The back drive is right out there.
When I was a young blade, that mirror often got sweated
up at night. The ceiling in this room is lower than most
others, you'll notice."
"I'll bet you fucked every girl for miles around."
"No, dear. It wasn't like today. The pill was new and a
lot of girls were slow to use it. But I got my share and
then some." He grinned. "Still do."
"Yet you were home alone last night."
"Well, I can't keep up the pace I managed 25 years ago,
can I?" He chuckled. "One way around that is to use this
instrument more." He waggled his tongue at her. "Lie
down on the bed and pull your knees up. By the way, can
you make a Viennese Oyster?"
She grinned. "Jeffrey told me about that."
"He would! Can you?"
In a jiffy she was bouncing on her arched back, heels
behind her head, buttocks and pudendum raised, shoulders
and arms resting on the bottoms of her thighs. She
laughed at his popping eyes. "This is what you meant,
right?"
"Oh, yes!" he breathed. He knelt on the bed and caressed
the upturned cheeks. "How remarkable, no acne! Everyone
who sits much has acne around the bottom of the butt."
He leered at her smug expression. "May I gather you
spent more time on your back or knees than sitting?"
"Jeffrey gets the credit. He gave me a cream to use and
inspected me every time."
"I can just imagine his inspection: rather like the one
I'm about to perform, wasn't it!"
He spread her labia and bent to the aromatic fissure.
After the briefest licks, he raised up slightly to look
at her. "Thank you, my dear. You applied the bourbon
douche, I see."
"I wondered if you'd notice. How about using your
fingers, too, Dickie-Pie?"
He chuckled and bent to her again. She sighed, hips
quivering, staring into the mirror. "Oh, Dickie-Pie! I
love this view." But her eyes soon drifted shut.
Nostrils flaring, she moaned in time with the strokes of
his fingers. The moans soon became a scream when his
tongue lashed her mercilessly. She forced his head away
roughly.
"You did that better last night!" she complained from a
red face.
"I want you at maximum sensitivity this morning. Now
raise your heels and take some of my weight on your
calves and thighs."
He slipped into her as her legs rose. Her heels hooked
over his shoulders. "Ah, yes," he breathed with a smug
grin. "That deep enough for you, Sweetie-Puss?"
"Oh, god!" she said distinctly. "I'm coming again!"
Her body convulsed under him. He maintained steady, deep
thrusts. She began an orgasmic cycle of short screams,
temporary rigidity, then gradually increasing hip motion
and sphincter closure leading again to short screams.
"Magnificent!" he murmured, studying her flushed
countenance with admiration and no little envy.
After several cycles the main door behind them swung
open with a sudden crack of the latch, admitting a blast
of cold air. The girl stiffened. Langley reached past
her to the edge of the blanket and folded it back over
her face before swiveling his torso to identify the
intruder.
It was a man in casual clothing too light for travel in
the snow. Langley recognized him immediately when he
turned back from closing the door. "God damn it, Gil,
have you forgot how to knock?"
"Sorry, Bob. Guess I have. I didn't know you were
fucking in here, for Christ's sake! Though I should've
guessed. Your phone is turned off again, isn't it?"
The girl tried to lower her legs, but Langley caught
them in his hands while his hips resumed a slow
thrusting. Her hands were poised on the couch to twist
away, but she held still.
"Have you heard something or were you just feeling
sociable."
The newcomer sniffed. "That girl! Where is she, upstairs
asleep?"
Langley grunted. "Do you think I stay in touch with her
every minute?"
"Are you sure she didn't run out again last night?"
"No, I checked on her before we talked. As a matter a
fact, I had breakfast with her about nine. Now that you
mention it, I think she is lying down again. She needs
it, Gil. She's had it hard."
"Yeah. She makes it hard! But I think we're getting to
the bottom of it. Bellingham's operator uncovered a key
fact last night, a contradiction in the bartender's
recollection."
"Hmm."
"Dammit, will you stop fucking and talk to me?"
"I am talking to you, Gil."
"Say, that's a nice cunt you've got turned up there!"
"Thank you, on the cunt's behalf. With a dick in them
they don't often have much to say. What was the
contradiction?"
"Who is she?" the newcomer asked, hand reaching for the
blanket edge.
"Unh-uh! Hold on, Gil. You might know her."
"I might, huh? Madison's maid that he had to fire last
week?"
Langley laughed. "Madison's maid indeed!"
"Good god, not his wife!" But Gil immediately shook his
head. "No, no, this cunt's too young. What a smooth ass
on her! Bob, are you treating her right? Why don't you
let her put her legs down before your weight gives her a
backache?"
"Look here, Gil, I thought you were concerned about your
stepdaughter."
"I am, Bob. I wish I'd been a bit more sympathetic --
Say, that cunt looks familiar!"
"Oh?"
"Bob, I'll bet you a couple of Gs I've been in that one,
too!"
Langley nodded sagely. "It's possible, I guess. But I
have to protect her identity. After all, you burst in
here on us. Do you know, I could charge you with
trespass?"
"Trespass?" Gil laughed a little. "As many times as
we've walked in on each other before? Remember the time
you caught me with Melissa's schoolteacher? Trespass!
Don't be silly."
"Of course, I only mention it because you seem intent on
exposing my partner, here. If you raise that blanket,
Gil, our friendship is at an end."
"Good god! She means that much to you?" The man drew
back, hand to chin, considering the gently moving couple
with calculating eyes. "Where are your girls, Bob?"
"You leave my girls out of this!"
"That's one of your daughters, isn't it?"
"No, you fool! I wouldn't screw my own daughter."
"Prove it."
"What?"
"Let me raise the blanket."
"Absolutely not!"
But Gil chuckled slightly. "That's Edna's car under your
south portico, isn't it?"
"No, damn it! That's one I had for the maid's use before
she left. Somehow it just never got put in its stall."
"Yeah. Somehow! Which one is she, Bob? Edna or Ruthie?"
"God damn it, Gil, you're becoming insulting."
"Am I? If she's not your daughter, then let me screw
her."
"Do what? Don't be ridiculous! What would it prove if I
did let you?"
"I bet I could identify her, if she isn't your daughter.
Ha! Dammit, one way or the other I'll get to the bottom
of this." He began to remove his clothing.
"Gil, what the hell are you doing? Don't you know you
can't just waltz into a man's house and fuck his woman?"
"Can't I?" The man stepped out of his britches. "I can
if it's not really his woman! Now move over and let her
put her legs down."
Langley drew a deep breath, hips stilled at last. "You
won't bother that blanket?"
"I won't touch it."
"Then see that you don't."
Langley lowered the girl's legs. He could feel her
tremble. Gil waddled onto the couch to take his place,
hand working himself under his shirt tails. He caught
her under the buttocks and lifted them up onto his
thighs. He explained, "I have to sit up, sweetie, so as
not to touch Bob's precious blanket." He leaned slightly
forward. "But I think we can still get the job done.
Hey, a juicy one! I swear to you, Bob, I've been in this
cunt before."
"You've been in a lot of them, Gil. But I'll tell you:
that's a funny way to look for your missing girl."
"Yeah, it is, isn't it." The man grinned, thrusting
vigorously. But shortly he desisted and pulled the
girl's hips higher in his lap. "That's not your juice in
her!"
Langley agreed dryly, "It seems I was interrupted."
"Look at that big rose. Not much doubt about this one,
is there?"
"What do you mean? What are you doing, Gil?"
The girl's body stiffened and her fists clenched but she
made no objection to his slowly sliding penetration.
"Ah, good!" the man declared. "When they're that juicy
above, Bob, they're ready below." He looked up
appraisingly at his friend. "Did you ever do a Boston
Treadle?"
"One or twice, when I was in school. Takes a limber
girl."
"This one is limber, or I miss my guess. Come on, help
me raise her bottom."
Stepping carefully, Langley crouched over the girl's
torso facing his friend while the latter rose to a
similar crouch. One hand each on her opposite hips, they
raised her genital area to an appropriate height,
dragging her face from beneath the blanket, still
concealed from Gil by the intervening bodies. She looked
up with horror into Langley's buttocks.
Gil used his free hand to present himself again to her
anus, while Langley depressed himself between her labia.
Now supporting her hips aloft firmly, each with both
hands, the men began an alternate thrusting.
"The only trouble with this," Gil groused, "is that I
have to smell your cognac breath."
Langley sniffed. "I was just thinking how much more
agreeable this was in the frat house. If it goes on much
longer I'll have back trouble!"
"Hey!" called a soprano voice beneath them. "Don't stop
now!"
"The hell with this," Langley declared. "Gil, pull out
and turn around."
"What you got in mind?"
"A regular old Greek sandwich. Soon as she's on top of
me, you put in from behind. You're the one that speaks
back-street, after all."
Gil turned around. Langley stretched out beside the
girl, helping her reverse and crawl atop him. She sighed
with an introspective expression as he slipped into her.
If recent developments worried her, they were not
apparent.
"Okay, Gil, we're ready."
The younger man knelt behind her between the spread
pairs of legs. In a moment they had established a
synchronous rhythm.
"I feel you," Gil announced, licking his lips.
"This compression pattern is unique," Langley agreed.
"You can say that again!" declared the girl. She began
to moan.
Langley said reminiscently, "Remember that bar girl in
Providence?"
"Like it was yesterday. She loved this, too."
"And wasn't it you with me on the lake at Buffalo? That
was a bunch who loved it."
Gil nodded. "I think all women love this, if they can
find trustworthy men to do it. Listen to her!"
Melissa had begun to utter soprano gasps that were small
screams.
Her hips were rolling vigorously upon the vaginal
penetration. Suddenly she shuddered while otherwise
rigid, though the men continued relentlessly. Soon she
relaxed and restarted her hip rolls. The moans were not
far behind.
"How long can she keep this up?" Gil asked in wonder.
"I think you probably know better than I," Langley
replied, moving easily, leaving most of the work to the
tireless girl.
Gil smiled. "I knew who she was as soon as she spoke.
How long have you been fucking her, Bob?"
"Apparently once last Halloween, then last night. Didn't
you tell me your wife put her into your bed when she was
13? That's kinkier even than usual for Newport."
"Mabel thought my enthusiasm was flagging. She sure
stirred it up, I'll admit!"
Langley chuckled. "Last night Melissa let me believe you
only fucked her the once in sympathy for her problem
with that asshole, Carstairs."
"Huh! The only truth in all that bull she shot you was
the bit about Carstairs. But I think I understand the
whole thing now, and we've got a problem. Can I count on
your help with Judge Powell?"
The girl screamed out another orgasm. When she relaxed
into a quieter part of her cycle, Langley responded,
"You mean the lad they thought was driving?"
"Yeah. It doesn't sit right, letting him take the rap."
"Don't jump the gun, Gil. I want to hear what Melissa
has to say about it first."
Gil grunted. "She's in no condition to talk coherently."
"Oh, I don't know. Hold still."
"What? Are you kidding?"
"Not a bit. At present you and I are in excellent
positions to judge her veracity."
"'To judge -' All right. How will you proceed?"
With both men holding themselves rigid, very shortly the
girl raised her mouth off Langley's shoulder. "Why did
you stop?" she asked aggrievedly.
Langley said quietly, "We want to hear you say who was
really driving night before last."
"Can't we talk about that latter?"
"We will! But that's the crucial question, and Melissa,
you know that neither of us will ever turn you in! Hell,
if we did you could probably charge us with worse."
She sighed. "I was driving." She craned her neck to look
back at her stepfather. "You're in this together, aren't
you?"
He leered. "And a wonderful this it is, too!" He resumed
his thrusts.
She turned wild-eyed back at Langley. He smiled gently,
pulled her face down and kissed her. "Just enjoy it,
Melissa. We'll talk later." He, too, resumed the slow
rotation of his hips.
* * * *
"Now maybe you'll tell me. What was the bartender's
contradiction?"
The girl lay naked on the opened couch, legs drawn up
with a hand between them, thumb of the other hand in her
mouth. She had collapsed so when the men left her. Now
her eyes were closed and her breathing was regular.
Langley had resumed his robe and sat in a nearby chair
watching Gil desultorily recover his own clothing.
Gil paused to pull the blanket over the girl's torso,
then resumed buttoning his shirt as he answered.
"Bellingham's man noted it last night before we
understood the significance. A bar fly who was there
Wednesday night, too, heard the bartender - name of
Kilmer - say then that Melissa was driving when they
left, but last night Kilmer told Bellingham's detectives
that the kid, Pershing, was the driver. Thinking it over
this morning after I talked to you, and noting Sloppy
Joe's number on my Caller ID record, I realized what it
all meant, that we didn't have to interrogate Melissa."
He grinned. "Though it's nice to have her admission. And
one other thing, if she'll tell the truth. How much was
Kilmer shaking her down for?"
"$10,000," the girl announced sleepily, not looking up.
"Have you already paid him anything?" asked Langley.
"The $5,000 I got for my car."
"When were you supposed to pay the rest?"
"Tonight. He said if he didn't hear before supper he'd
call the cops and tell them he made a mistake."
"Who actually saw you in the driver's seat when you left
Sloppy Joe's?"
"I don't see how anyone could. It was snowing awfully
hard."
"Did you tell anyone in the bar you would drive?"
"I let David lean on me to get out the door. I guess
anyone who noticed could see he was wall-stoned."
"'Wall-stoned,'" Langley repeated, chuckling a little.
"That says it, doesn't it? So you poured him in his car
and set out to drive him home, did you? What's he to
you?"
"A good friend."
Gil, buckling his belt, snorted. "For the past several
years! I caught them humping on a pool table when she
was 14."
She retorted defensively, "He and I could always tell
each other anything. But now he's at odds with his
mother. He drinks too much."
Langley continued, "The accident happened two blocks
away. You were still driving when you hit the city bus.
How did you manage to smack a lamp pole half a block
further on?"
"I'd been drinking, too. I already have two DWIs. They'd
take my license."
"So you moved David into the driver's seat, eh? After
all, it was his car. Where was your car?"
"In the Sloppy Joe parking lot. It stayed there until I
met Harry from the used car lot to sign his papers. At
least he was willing."
"Yeah," Gil agreed dryly, "I guess he was: a 40 grand
Corvette for five."
"So you immediately turned the money over to Kilmer, did
you, and set about locating the next five?"
"I'm sorry, Daddy," she said in a small voice.
"I am, too," Gil agreed, "but mainly that you didn't
understand you could have come to me -- that you should
have come to me right away!"
She sighed. "Have you forgot what you told me at the
last one?"
"That was just in hopes of slowing you down. Don't you
know I could never really throw you out?"
"You said I was 18 then and even if you were my real
daddy you wouldn't owe me anything."
Gil looked away shamefaced.
"What about David Pershing?" asked Langley. "They've
charged him with DWI and hit-and-run, plus a few other
things like reckless driving. Where's his father? Why is
he still in jail?"
"His father's dead," the girl explained, eyes lowered.
"He's afraid to tell his mother."
"I see. Gil, will you take care of the expenses, the
repair bills, all that?"
"Yeah."
"Okay. Have Bellingham look into Kilmer's past. He's
bound to find something! I'll get David out of jail and
speak to the judge. He owes me one or two. Melissa, look
at me. You've got to have confidence in your men."
"My men?"
"I count myself in that august assemblage. Let me say,
have confidence in your old men. Remember what I told
you last night about sweet food?"
"Yes. Now you're making me thirsty! Do my old men
include Jeffrey?"
"Definitely!" declared Gil.
Langley regarded him curiously, then smiled. "Ah, yes.
Now I remember how thick you and he used to be. Did that
have a bearing on your confidence in the Boston
Treadle?"
Gil chuckled slightly. "As a matter of fact, Jeffrey and
I introduced her to it. She's right. Aren't we all
thirsty? I know you've got lots to drink in this place."
Langley gestured to the inside door. "The refrigerator
next door is supposed to be stocked. You two go ahead. I
need to make a few phone calls."
END
kellis@dhp.com
Stories Gratis at http://www.dhp.com/~kellis
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 70